Our Finest Gifts | 2 of 2

And to think, I almost quit writing forever without giving you this.

So much gore. So much.

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Our Finest Gifts

Part 2 of 2

The smell was the first indication that he was conscious again. The smell was also the first indication that something was very, very wrong. It was the stink of roadkill made ripe by the sun, and maybe turned over with a pitchfork for good measure. It filled his sinuses, spilled into his throat, and set his eyes watering as he gagged. Devon rolled, clutching his side, and slowly opened his eyes.

He was still high, but not high enough. It was too easy to think, even with the electronic clicking of the lights amplified within his ears. There were too many colors. Devon squeezed his eyes shut.
   
“Weeeeeeelly well well. Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke the fuck up. Was startin t’think I’d have to find your faggy ass a prince or somethin’. Shit.”

And so I return, with a little more noise than I left, and no explanation as to why either event has occurred.

Kindly forgive the inconvenience. I'll have Part 2 of that last story up after the weekend.

~marcus